The Master of the Ring
by iivxrebmunhael
Summary: Mahaad is an apprentice to the bearer of the Millennium Ring, and is to take his place in the Pharaoh's court someday. However, the Priest of the Ring is a cruel master and Mahaad finds himself wishing nothing more than to escape his iron grip. My idea on the circumstances of Mahaad's initiation into priesthood.
1. Chapter 1

A young boy's head nodded up and down sporadically as he fought the darkness of sleep. His long brown hair fell forward past his shoulders onto the old papyrus scroll he was supposed to be studying. Ra had long since fallen below the horizon, and nearly everyone else in the royal palace had retired to their bedchambers for the night. The boy's eyes had nearly completely slipped closed when—

"Pssst! Mahaad!"

Mahaad rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes before raising his gaze to the source of the voice. He was met by an unruly head of bright tricolored hair, and a pair of large, curious violet eyes. He sighed and rose from his desk.

"Prince, what are you doing up this late?" he asked as he walked around to the doorway.

"I wanted to see if Mana would play with me, but she said she was too tired. I saw a light in your room and I came to see what you were doing!"

Mahaad couldn't help but smile at the prince. Despite being nearly seven cycles of Ra younger than he was, he was already as sly as they came, able to manipulate nearly anyone to his whim.

Suddenly, the prince reached up and placed a hand on Mahaad's left shoulder, shoving his tunic sleeve aside to reveal a nasty-looking black and purple bruise beginning near the base of his neck.

"Mahaad...did he hit you again?"

Mahaad glanced away. Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. "It's nothing." The Prince frowned. "What happened?"

"Th-The portal spell I cast transported me three cubits too far down the bank of the Nile…."

"Three cubits!?" The young prince's innocent face contorted in anger.

"Prince Atem, please, keep your voice down-"

"This is getting worse and worse, Mahaad! Come morning, I'm telling my father about what he's been doing to you-"

"Prince, listen," Mahaad interrupted. "He's the Priest of the Ring. I'm just an apprentice. They won't believe you on my account." _'Believe me, if I thought they would, I'd have escaped this hell long ago,' _he added bitterly in his mind.

Atem's expression softened. "Is there more I can't see?" he asked meekly.

"N-no," Mahaad lied. There was no need in upsetting the boy any more than he already had.

Atem raised his eyebrows at the apprentice. Mahaad hated that look. He felt as though those amethyst eyes were boring through his brain.

How was that kid so perceptive anyway?

Mahaad rolled his eyes and removed his outer tunic. Atem's eyes widened as his fingers ghosted over Mahaad's chest and abdomen. He was hard-pressed to find any skin that had not been colored black, purple, or red.

"M-Mahaad...this...this is awful…."

Mahaad hurriedly pulled his tunic back over his head, resisting the urge to grimace as his hand brushed against his chest. "Listen, Prince. It's fine, I promise. I'm used to it by now."

Atem continued to frown. "People just don't get _used_ to this kind of thing, Mahaad. Please, just let me tell my father-"

"You do and I'll tell him where your favorite hiding place is."

Atem's eyes widened and he gasped in horror.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

"You'd be selling out Mana too!"

"Then I guess you'll just have to tell her why she can't hide in those pots anymore."

Suddenly and without warning, the prince burst into tears and threw his small arms around Mahaad's torso. As he constricted his grip, Mahaad gasped softly in pain.

"Mahaad, me and Mana are worried about you! That guy is awful! People like him need to just die!"

Mahaad patted the prince's hair awkwardly. "That isn't the way the world works, I'm afraid…" he mused bitterly.

"_There _you are!"

Atem groaned and hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes.

A young woman stood in the doorway, the dark circles under her eyes adding to exasperated expression. "I should have known you'd be in here again."

"Mashti, do I really have to go back to bed?" the prince asked, his innocent eyes widening as he slightly stuck out his lower lip.

"Don't use that expression with me, Prince. I've grown quite immune to it. And yes, you must come to your bedchambers. You know how your father gets when you stay up late," the woman replied. "Now, come. It's late." She extended her hand to Atem.

Atem sighed and looked back at Mahaad. "Good night, Mahaad. I'll see you tomorrow. Please be careful." He then made his way over to Mashti and slipped his hand into hers, allowing her to lead him off into the darkness of the palace.

Mahaad exhaled heavily as he dropped back to his desk. That spell wasn't going to study itself.


	2. Chapter 2

That damned room again.

Every morning, Mahaad somehow found himself staring down the door once more, wondering to himself, _'Dear Ra, why am I here again...?'_

That room, the place where his master trained him in the art of magic and spellcasting, had seen torrents of blood, sweat, and tears. In the back of his mind, Mahaad vaguely wondered which one it would be today, or if it would be some gruesome combination of the three. He pulled a string from a pocket in his tunic and tied his hair back; his master didn't appreciate the way it rolled into his face and down his shoulders.

He took in a long, shuddering breath and softly knocked twice on the door.

His master's smooth voice soon emanated from within.

"Enter."

Mahaad pressed open the door, trying as best as he could to steel his nerves. He stepped inside of the dimly lit room and quickly sunk to one knee. "Good morning, Master Kassim. I trust that the light of Ra finds you well today."

The same line, every day. "Manners," his master had said. _'More like let's see how long it takes for me to look up at him without an invitation so that he can punish me for it,' _the apprentice thought with distaste. He had learned that lesson quickly enough.

"Rise. Our lesson will be short today. The Court is convening to welcome the new apprentice of Priestess Senet, and you and I both must attend."

As Mahaad rose to his feet again, he inwardly sighed with relief. He loved short lessons. It meant there was less time for him to mess anything up. He looked into Kassim's dark, narrow eyes, trying to assess what sort of mood he was in.

"What have I told you about making eye contact with your superiors?"

Mahaad quickly lowered his gaze to the ground and swallowed, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. "My apologies, Master. It will not happen again." He hated the quiet, submissive tone his voice took.

"See to it that it doesn't." Kassim rose from his desk and walked around to the front of it. "Now then," he began, his voice deceptively bright. "You've been studying your camouflage spell, am I correct? Let's see how well you perform it. And say it loud enough so that I can hear your pronunciation."

Mahaad gulped and took in a deep breath. He raised his right arm and touched a finger to the top of his head, fighting to keep it from trembling. He began to chant aloud in an ancient, unknown language known only to sorcerers. No sooner had he finished than he felt warmth emanating from his fingertip and traveling down the rest of his body. He knew that he could still see himself, but he had no way of knowing if Kassim could see him or not. He lowered his arm as his master began to pace in a circle around him. He waited in suspense, his heart thundering madly in his chest.

"Jump."

Desperately hoping that the charm would work like it should, Mahaad bent his knees and pressed his weight off of the ground, landing with a soft tap of his sandals.

"I can see your fingertips when they move."

_'Damn it!'_

"M-my apologies, Master. I-er, may I try it once more?"

"Dispel it."

Mahaad's heart sank somewhere near the belt of his tunic as he quietly murmured the counterspell. He was in for it now.

"Do you know why I picked you up off the streets, Mahaad?" Kassim had walked back over to his desk and was now absently stroking the spine of one of the many old tomes upon it.

"Because-"

"You have an incredible amount of heka within you, boy. I sensed it from the moment I laid eyes on you, back when you were dressed in nothing but filthy rags and begging for food from passerby. You have the potential to become the greatest magician in the world. You must inherit the Millennium Ring and its power. And you can't even get a simple camouflage spell right?"

"Master, please, if only I had more time-"

His plea was silenced as he was forced to duck quickly. The book his master had been holding slammed into the wall behind him. His eyes wide, he chose not to continue speaking.

Kassim soon towered over the apprentice. "Do you _want _to live on the streets again?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"N-no, Master..."

Mahaad was suddenly thrown to the ground. He grimaced as his aching body hit the stone floor.

"Then, I would _suggest_-"

For emphasis, he sent his foot crashing into Mahaad's abdomen. His eyes widened and he laid there, trying to gasp air back into his lungs.

"-that you try a little _harder_ next time."

He kicked the downed apprentice once more, and a sickening crack echoed off of the walls, followed by an agonized cry. Mahaad curled in upon himself protectively before falling into a coughing fit, which he was surprised to see cover the ground in front of him with crimson droplets.

_'B-blood?'_

"Damn, looks like I broke a rib and pierced a lung..." Kassim turned around without so much as another glance at his apprentice. "I suppose there's no getting out of it this time. You'll have to go to the healers," he remarked nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. "Give them the usual explanation. Once you're finished come back here to prepare for the greeting of the new apprentice. Get out of my sight."

Not bothering to respond, Mahaad struggled to lift himself off the ground. Once he had succeeded, he awkwardly shuffled out of the room, halfway hunched over with an arm across his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Mahaad hobbled down a few hallways of the palace before coming to a ward separated from the rest of the corridor with a white curtain. He brushed the curtain aside and stepped into the bright room. Beds aligned one wall and across the other there were shelves packed with bottles and strange instruments. Two women were huddled over something on a table at the far end of the room. At the rustling of the curtain, they turned around and noticed him standing there. One of them rose and greeted him.

"Oh, Mahaad! How are you today?" Her short, dark hair bounced slightly as she walked over to him, a smile adorning her bright and cheerful face.

"I'm well, Naftil, how-"

He was suddenly overcome by another coughing spell. He covered his mouth with his hand, and when his spasm ended, he pulled it away and watched with slight horror as blood dripped off of it and fell to the ground.

Naftil's smile left her face when she saw the scarlet liquid. "Oh no! You're injured again! Just sit tight I'll be back in a moment!" She hurried out of the room just as the other woman made her way over towards Mahaad.

"So what's the story?" she asked curtly. She was larger in stature than Naftil, and her face wasn't nearly as open or cheerful. Her hair was also dark and tied back in a tight bun.

"Spell backfire..." Mahaad mumbled, his face flushing red.

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. "At this rate you'll blow yourself up before you ever get initiated into the Sacred Court," she began, just as Naftil hurried back into the room with some small scrolls, a small wooden rod, and a thick cloth.

"Reshpa, please," she said. "He's just a child. He'll improve with time. Clearly Priest Kassim sees potential in him, and he would know better than any of us."

"Hmph. All I'm saying is that it's dangerous for this apprentice to be practicing spells that he clearly doesn't have a hold on yet."

Mahaad listened with little interest. They had this conversation nearly every time he was there, which was quickly becoming as often as once a week or more.

"Reshpa, you can leave. I'll take care of him."

"As long as you're sure. Don't put that rib into his throat or anything."

As Reshpa swept aside the white curtain and left, Naftil wrapped the rod in the white cloth.

"Lay down please. I don't trust myself to do this while you're not standing straight," she said softly, smiling at him once more.

With some difficulty, Mahaad managed to climb onto the bed and lay out straight, but not before coughing once more into the inside of his tunic, staining it with a large red blotch.

Naftil brought the wrapped stick near to Mahaad's mouth. "Bite this. I'm not sure how much this will hurt," she added. Mahaad noticed a strange expression on her face.

_'Is that...pity?'_

He fought the urge to let loose a cry of frustration.

_'I hate this. Because of how my master treats me, everyone thinks I'm a terrible magician. I know what I'm doing! I know the spells! I can _perform _the spells! I can do them perfectly! Just not when he's towering over me and threatening to beat me if I-'_

"...okay?"

Mahaad snapped out of his internal musings to see Naftil hovering over him with a worried look.

"I-I apologize," he said quickly before taking the rod into his mouth and biting down on it.

Naftil carefully rolled up the top half of his tunic, exposing his discolored torso.

"A bad one this time, huh?"

Mahaad averted his gaze and nodded.

"First, let's see what's going on."

Naftil opened one of the scrolls and carefully recited the spell written upon it. Her fingers began to take on a bluish glow, with one to match on her eyes. After setting aside the scroll, she closed her eyes. Her hands ghosted back and forth over Mahaad's body, and he could see her eyes moving back and forth underneath her lids.

"Lots of broken blood vessels..." she murmured. Finally, she stopped over the right side of Mahaad's chest. "Ah, there it is," she remarked. "Looks like just a small puncture. You're lucky. If it had been on the left side, it would have hit your heart and you would likely be dead," she told him.

Mahaad shuddered. To think that his master had been just barely shy of actually killing him.

The blue glow faded from her hands and she picked up another of the scrolls.

"Now this is going to be the hard part so just stay strong for me okay?" Naftil tried to reassure him. He would have smiled back at her if it hadn't been for the wrapped stick between his teeth.

She began to recite the spell on this new scroll, and Mahaad immediately shut his eyes as he felt something inside of him move.

It hurt, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as some of the other things his master had done to him. He stayed silent as his rib snapped back into place and his blood vessels mended themselves.

When Naftil finished chanting, she wiped sweat from her brow and smiled at Mahaad as she gently took the rod from his mouth. "You're a strong young man, Mahaad," she murmured, almost to herself it seemed.

Mahaad looked away, unsure of how to respond.

"Back then..." Naftil began, hesitantly. "When you were lost in thought...you had a frightening expression on your face..." her voice trailed off, and Mahaad's cheeks flushed. He didn't mean for it to be so obvious.

"Mahaad...these wounds that you come to us with...they aren't...backfire wounds, are they?"

The apprentice's eyes snapped up to Naftil's face, and his heart felt like it had jumped into his throat. His master had made quite clear what would happen to him if he told anyone about what conspired behind that door.

"No-I...uh-of course they are. I mess up pretty easily when I get nervous, and..." He let his next words die in his throat. He cursed himself for being such a terrible liar; he knew that Naftil could see right through him. At least the last part was true, although "nervous" could easily be replaced with "purely terrified for his well-being".

Mahaad quickly raised himself into a sitting position and made to slide off the bed and leave. As he rolled his tunic back down over his chest and stomach, words haphazardly tumbled out of his mouth.

"Well, I've got to get back to Master Kassim we have to go greet the new apprentice of the Necklace so thank you very much for helping me and I-"

He was silenced when Naftil placed her hands on his shoulders, keeping him from standing.

"Mahaad, please. Something or someone is hurting you. I'm not ignorant, I know what backfires look like. I've suffered plenty and treated even more. Please, Mahaad, you can trust me," she pleaded, looking into his eyes sincerely.

Mahaad desperately fought the urge to tell her everything. He had no way of knowing if his master would somehow find out. However, as hard as he struggled, he was continuously drawn towards Naftil's almost motherly nature, and he ultimately gave in.

"Y-you absolutely can't tell anyone," he stammered.

"You can trust me," Naftil repeated. She lifted her hands from his shoulders and Mahaad slid himself back onto the bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

"He told me...if I told anyone...he would..." He fought to keep his voice steady. "He would...'make sure I would never be able to open my filthy mouth again'..."

He felt his eyes begin to burn.

"Mahaad...who's saying and doing these terrible things to you...?"

"M-my master...K-Kassim..."

Mahaad could no longer speak. He buried his face in his arms as the tears normally reserved only for himself burst forth.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I figured I should put somewhere in here that Naftil, Reshpa, and Kassim are all characters of my own creation.**


End file.
